Happy to share another insightful poem by California poet Lori Levy today. Last time she wrote about her love of eggplant, wanting to make it her special hobby. Now, what about a peach?
Sometimes we just have to be still and let joy find us.
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PEACHContinue reading
by Lori Levy
A woman writes about a peach.
I don't know the woman, don't know why,
out of all the poems and stories in a book I've just read,
I remember her and her peach --
how, as she bites into it one August afternoon
while reading on her patio, birds chirping around her,
scent of roses in the air, her depression lifts.
Nothing more than a peach, but it's enough,
the taste just right, juicy and sweet,
fresh from the local farmers' market.
Or maybe it's the woman herself, not expecting anything,
but ready somehow. Open, alert, ripe as her peach.
Four months of crying, grieving,
numb from the death of her husband, and, suddenly,
there it is for a moment: a thrill
she thought she'd never feel again.
A peach. But it could just as well be a baked potato
on a blanket at the beach, as it was for me once,
picnicking with family as the sky turned as luscious
as this woman's peach.
An awakening. A jolt to the senses.
We search and search, and the moment we stop
and pay attention, it's here, not there, and simple as
a peach on a patio. Or a slice of chocolate cream pie
by an open window, sun pouring in.
Or just the sun, a patch on the table,
like a note. A reminder.
~ posted by permission of the author (first published in Iris Literary Journal, March 2023).
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